


Remember all of the Suffering

by JessicaDoom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ankou, Completed, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Demon Dean, Destiel - Freeform, Hallucinations, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Nearly Human Castiel, Prompt Fic, Stolen Grace, Tumblr Prompt, Wing Kink, canon: pre-season 10, cerebral anoxia, hellhound, silky ghost, sylvarstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaDoom/pseuds/JessicaDoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's grace is fading too fast. He and Sam are searching for Dean, desperate to save his demonized soul. But as he becomes more human, he begins to lose his control on his own mind. Hallucinations show him his fears of what Dean has become. Dreams show him what could have been. And, in the end, reality will show him how little influence what he feels can really have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chains of never-ending agony

**Author's Note:**

> On Tumblr, I asked my followers to pick a page number. From that number, I would pick what was upon it in my new purchase - the book "The Element Encyclopedia of Ghosts & Hauntings". From that thing, I would write a small Supernatural fic.
> 
> This first one is from an anon. They suggested page number 78 and the thing I chose from that page was "cerebral anoxia". Basically the oxygen deficiency that causes paranormal hallucinations. And... this Destiel thing happened. Hope you all enjoy! There will be two more to come after this.

Dean was a demon. Castiel had known almost from the instant that it happened. He would have known if the man was dead. The bond between them was too strong. But something had definitely been off about the way this man's presence in the universe felt. The first chance he had, Castiel went to search for what that really meant.

On one hand, he was glad Metratron has been wrong. He was glad that Dean had come out alive in some form. But a demon…. Everything Castiel naturally knew said now…now he was supposed to hate Dean Winchester. He was something that an angel was forbidden from caring about in any sense of the word. His feelings for this man, however, were not that easy to turn off.

Telling Sam had been the hardest thing he'd had to do. Sam had been searching high and low for whoever had taken the body of his brother. It was an insult higher than anything he had experienced. And the fact that it had happened while he was in another room made it all the worse. When Castiel caught up with him, Sam was torturing a captured demon. He was absolutely sure that the demons had taken his brother's corpse for pure enjoyment. And the demon just kept _laughing_. Once Castiel explained what had truly happened to his brother, everything became crystal clear as to why.

Since then, it had been their number one goal to find Dean. Per Sam's request, of course. Castiel wasn't sure he even wanted to find Dean – but he did it for Sam. He felt he owed him, allowing Metratron to get the best of them. Allowing Dean to have died in the first place. If they found him, though, he knew what he would see. He knew that they would find only a shell of the man they once knew. A shell without life or soul or anything that could make someone human. He wouldn't be _Dean_ any longer.

Day-by-day, Castiel's grace was fading further. Frequent trips between Heaven and Earth drained him faster than he thought possible. There were days where he would be absolutely useless, lying on a shitty motel bed and just drifting in and out of consciousness. It was almost like being human again. Just in those moments, though. Normally, he felt like an angel. Like he should. The grace would work and it would work well. He was powerful. But those times of exhaustion, they were the worst he had ever felt. And that was what made it so bad – that he was forced to go between high and low with absolutely no control.

The weak moments were becoming more and more frequent every day. Castiel was fairly sure that when he was on Earth with Sam, he was next to useless. Drifting in and out of sleep, constantly feeling the need to fill himself with whatever food he could get his hands on, hardly able to retain focus.

And, still, he wasn't searching for a way to fix it. He wasn't really sure why, but he felt he wasn't worth it this time. He had already stolen another's grace. Why should he be allowed to take grace from however many angels it took to keep him whole forever? In a way, he deserved to be down here, human as those around him. He deserved the punishment.

"Look at you, Cas…. You're pathetic…."

The voice jarred Castiel into consciousness. He looked around himself, seeing nothing but tall grass and the occasional tree. Behind him, he could feel the solidarity of one of those trunks. It took him a moment, but he remembered where he was. They had tracked demonic omens to this farm. Sam went inside to question the family about their dying livestock, seeing Castiel looking weary and telling him to stay outside. To examine the area. He obviously hadn't made it very far….

Castiel took in a long breath, squinting his eyes for a sign of where the voice had come from. He struggled to his feet, desperate for a glimpse of the man with the acid-green eyes and hair that toed the line between light brown and dark blonde. He would know that voice anywhere. "D-Dean?" he whispered, gripping the bark of the tree – the bite of its splinters in his hand keeping him grounded to reality.

Before his eyes, the figure he had expected (and possibly dreaded) to see manifested. Black smoke swirled quickly into the form of a man so familiar to him by now. At the sight, Castiel caught his breath and held it, unwilling to blink. He was Dean…but he also wasn't. Not quite, anyway. His eyes were dark as a cloudy night and beneath that shone through his new form. He flinched back at the sight, closing his eyes to seal himself off from the weight of that demonic gaze. The twisted part of his soul that truly made him a demon was absolutely jarring. He was still young and not quite as evil as other demons, but he was on his way. The Mark of Cain was working fast.

"What's the matter, Cas? Don't you think I'm handsome still?" Castiel flattened himself up against the tree, fear and reality almost too much at this point. The demonized version of his friend followed him, giving an amused and warped grin. He only stopped when he was a mere inch away, breathing his repulsive scent straight into Castiel's nose. "I think I'm downright _gorgeous_. Black works well on me, doesn't it?"

Gaining an ounce of courage, Castiel opened his eyes and squared his jaw. He looked the man in front of him up and down again before meeting Dean's eyes. Dean blinked and they again gained their normal color. If the angel could ignore the ugly face of the demon inside of him, he could still seem the same. "Sam has been searching for you, Dean."

"Oh, I know what little Sammy has been up to," Dean interjected, rolling his shoulders in a careless shrug. "Searching the country end to end for any singular whisper of my name. My personal favorite was his begging at the crossroads. His insistence that I would be there because I just _must be_ Crowley's bitch now. Huh?" He stretched his neck from side to side, sucking his teeth like the memory left a bad taste in his mouth. "You think Crowley would really force his best asset to be a salesman? Pathetic."

"He wants to help. Together, we could all find a cure for this, I'm sure. We could reverse what the Mark has caused you to become. We could rid you of this…disease."

The laugh Dean gave was otherworldly – it was the sound of something truly evil. A chill ran down Castiel's spine, causing him to cringe back into the tree. "And who says I want that?" the demon spat, shifting his footing in the mud to slip one foot between Castiel's. His breath was in Castiel's ear a moment later, his harsh whisper churning the angel's stomach. "Who says I need curing? I feel _alive_ , Cas. I feel powerful…." He snorted, pulling back to just barely meet the other's gaze. "You just want your little slice of humanity back, don't you?" In a move that could only be described as snake-like, Dean wetted his lips with his tongue before just barely darting it against Castiel's cheek. "You just want your Righteous Man by your side again…looking after you like a fucking pet."

The pit inside of Castiel's stomach sang along to Dean's tune. That was exactly what he wanted. Dean was the reason he had rebelled against Heaven. He was the one to make Castiel realize that there was more than just taking orders. He was practically Castiel's everything. His mutiny against Naomi had showed them all just that. "Dean…."

With a sharp crack, Dean pushed Castiel roughly back against the tree. His fingers curled tightly around the angel's shoulders, working slowly back to the dark wings that were now visible to him. He grasped a handful of feathers, watching Castiel nearly melt at the touch. Dean was his weakness and the demon knew that. Knew how to torture the angel with that. "I know you better now," Dean hissed, stroking a particularly sensitive part of the left wing with the pad of his thumb. It would almost be gentle or sweet if not accompanied by that lascivious look. "I can see _you_...and you look pious. But you also look broken. Is that my fault, Cas? Have I broken something in you?"

"My grace-"

The lips, so familiar from long periods of time spent memorizing them, quickly caught his own in a fierce kiss. It rivaled nothing Castiel had felt thus far in his limited sexual experience. The kiss was hot and rough, tinged the mingling remnants of sulfur and Castiel's dwindling grace. Instinctively, he moaned. This was nothing like he had imagined in those nights where he would do nothing but watch Dean sleep. It was needy and dark and absolutely _forbidden_. And yet... Castiel never wanted it to stop.

The sheer ecstasy his vessel experienced masked the pain of what happened next. It dulled the bite of the archangel's blade being plunged into his stomach. Made him oblivious to the blood and the feeling like he was going to explode. But once Dean pulled back, this all fell on him like an incredible weight. He gasped loud in surprise at first, then shuddered out a dying breath that took on the form of the only human he had ever loved's name.

"D-Dean..."

Everything went dark. Castiel could feel himself slipping from the world. He wanted to scream and shout and protest what had happened. But he couldn't find his voice.

"Cas!" Dean shouted - almost like he was surprised.

Why was he surprised? He had done this!

"Castiel! Hey!" Something smacked harshly into Castiel's chest. He sputtered a went cough that he assumed was filled with blood. "Cas, come on - don't do this!"

The second blow to his chest did it. It woke Castiel from his haze and opened his eyes. He pulled in a deep breath, feeling like he could finally breathe. "Dean!" Glassy blue eyes wide with fear, he pushed himself up the trunk of the tree to stand. He looked quickly around him at the tall grass, searching for Dean. His hand was instinctively upon his stomach, but he was stunned to see no blood when he looked down for a moment to examine himself.

"Dean? He was here?!" Sam's voice held hope and intrigue. He, too, scanned the area but came up short.

"He was here!" Castiel shouted, his deep timbre loud enough to rain leaves from the tree down upon them. "He was..." He looked down at the mud, scanning the footprints for proof. They should have been _right there_ next to his own. But he could only find one set - his own. "He was... And he..."

Sam's eyes followed the hurt path to the ground. He sighed heavily, tugging upon his tie to loosen it. "Cas...you weren't breathing..."

Castiel gripped at his hair, feeling the need to rip it clean out. "That's because be killed me, Sam. He _stabbed_ me!"

Every last ounce of patience Sam had went into being gentle with the angel. He sighed softly, his hand gently coming to rest just on the edge of Castiel's shoulder. "Cas? Dean wasn't here. Okay? You're alive. He didn't stab you. Not a scratch on you, right?" They both looked down at the angel's stomach to confirm this. "You were hallucinating..."

" _What_?" Castiel wanted Sam to be wrong. He actually wanted the demon to be hiding in the grass, snickering at their confusion. It had been so real!

"It's called cerebral anoxia," Sam said gently. He stepped in front of the other so he could see nothing else. There was that soft, kind look that only he could have plastered on his face. A look of reasoning. "Not enough oxygen to your brain that can...cause hallucinations..."

Dean couldn't have possibly just been a hallucination. He was too real. That _kiss_ was too real. However, he really had no choice but to believe it. Slowly, he allowed himself to calm down. His hands dropped back down to his sides and he forced himself to breathe. He was becoming human again. That was something he needed to do now. It made sense...

"Cas... I don't think you should come with me anymore..."

He couldn't. Castiel knew Sam was right, as much as that hurt. As much as it felt like a betrayal for Sam to locate Dean without him. If he was hallucinating things, he wasn't of any use. He could end up endangering them. "Yes, I am aware," he whispered.

Invisible to Sam's eyes, Castiel's wings ruffled in the air around them. The phantom touch of Dean's fingers to his sensitive feathers still lingered. If they ever found Dean before he lost his grace completely, he knew he would practically beg him for that touch. If it was the last thing he did before falling back into humanity.

"I should like to sleep now," Castiel mumbled weakly. The hallucination had absolutely drained him once again. And a part of him longed to dream. He wanted to beg for Dean to pull his feathers and crush his spine. To kiss him with that tongue of sulfur and hiss his name. He wanted to be able to pretend that finding Dean could be something desirable even just for a moment. Just once more before reality crushed him with the truth.


	2. time keeps on slipping away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend sylvarstar requested page 450, as well as a Destiel theme. The theme shamed the entire series, really XD 450 was silky - a spirit/ghost that tends to clean house for the occupants and likes to kill those who are poor workers. Enjoy!

The idea was that sleep would bring Castiel back to normal. His intention was to rest for a bit and wake up refreshed. That was normal for humans, right? They would go to sleep at night and awake in the morning feeling ready to start a new day.

Castiel must have been doing it wrong.

For the third time that week, the angel woke groggy and looked around him. It took him a few moments to gather where he was. It was a familiar place by now, being the room he'd set up in whenever he returned to Earth. He turned onto his side, looking over at the clock and barely making out that it was mid-afternoon. Two days after he had fallen asleep. With a deep sigh, he rolled back into the sheets and curled them tighter up to his neck.

There were many rooms in the Men of Letters' bunker. Castiel could have chosen any one of them to sleep in. Any single one of them without any importance could have worked. All he needed was a bed, in reality. But he had chosen this specific room for a reason – Dean's room. The room that he finally had for his own after a lifetime of constantly moving place-to-place.

The pillows still smelt like Dean. He had a very distinct scent that was nothing but sweat, grease, and cheap soap. It was…comforting in ways Castiel just couldn't explain. He buried his nose in the pillowcase and took in a deep breath. Sam had never questioned his choice on the selection – on some level he must have understood. All Castiel wanted was to be closer to the man. He was the angel's tie to humanity. It was hard to ignore or explain the lost feeling being without him produced.

"Hey, you're awake." Sam's voice was gentle as he came in the room. In the past, he had gone down his fair share of bad paths. The demon blood addiction, killing Lilith to free Lucifer, every mistake he had made when soulless, scratching at his mental walls until they broke. But there was no denying that he was kind, especially to those he cared for. The evidence of just that was written plainly in his features. He was carrying an old-fashioned tray, a glass of water, steaming bowl of soup, and buttered toast carefully arranged atop it. "Hungry?"

Castiel shook his head slowly back and forth. Now was not one of the times where the part of him that was becoming human craved to be fed endlessly. It did, however, scream at him to go back to sleep. His muscles ached, his skin felt like it didn't belong, and he had a terrible headache. "I am fine," he croaked out, closing his eyes once more. "Just having a hard time recovering…."

"So you're just going to sleep all day, then?"

The voice was back. This time Castiel didn't jump. This time…he didn't feel like he was in danger. It didn't feel as _real_ as last time. It was less of a hallucination as it was…a dream….

Very slowly, Castiel turned his head out of the pillow. His eyes met the stunning green of the man they had been so desperate to find. This time, there was no demonic face beneath Dean's own. It was clear and human and all _him_. It was beautiful. He sat up quickly then, pulling himself out of the bed and over to the where the man stood in front of the closet. He wasn't thinking about motives or repercussions or right and wrong. He definitely wasn't worrying over Dean being fully dressed while he was only in a white undershirt and a pair of briefs.

 _Dean_. That was all he was thinking about. Dean in front of him with his beautiful eyes, strong jaw-line, and quirky smile. Dean being human once again.

The kiss from this dream was nothing like the one from the hallucination. It was wasn't pungent with the acrid taste of sulfur. The stress of Dean's hands on his hips didn't feel like it could crush bone. His back didn't bend impossibly against the corner of the wall when he was gently pushed into it. It was...softer and careful, but in a way that said they cared about this more than anything.

Neither time was bad, but this one was definitely better.

"Sam has a case," Dean muttered against Castiel's lips, causing him to groan at how normal it was. He would give anything for normal again. "We're leaving in a few minutes. I…I only came to say goodbye…. Ugh, wish I could fuck you before…." The man pulled away with a short sigh, resting their foreheads together.

"Do it." Castiel raised his brow, surprising himself with the forwardness of his words. "I'm sure Sam would understand."

Dean snorted, stepping back and giving Castiel a long stare. "Right... Because that would be the best way for Sam to find out I've gone _Brokeback_." He crossed his arms, defensive like they'd had this conversation before. "'Sorry, Sammy. Had to fuck the ex-angel before we took off. You understand, right?'"

"I didn't-"

"I know," Dean said on a heavy breath out through his nose. "You didn't understand the reference." He took a few steps towards the door to leave, reaching out to grip Castiel's shoulder for a moment. "One of these days...when things are slow, we're going to have a marathon. We won't start with that, though. Should start with _Star Trek_. The classics, not the remakes. Definitely not the remakes..."

Somewhere deep inside, Castiel's lucid self was aware that he had understood the reference. That he knew every single plot point of the movies Dean had mentioned. But in this dream reality, he for some reason blocked that out. Maybe because the man looked so excited to share his favorite entertainment with someone he cared for.

Chuckling to himself, Dean left then. And Castiel found that he couldn't keep his eyes from following him until he could no longer hear the footsteps. It was then that he felt the deep pit in his stomach begin to reopen. The one that he had grown to be familiar with by now. The one that he felt every time Dean Winchester was out of his sight. It was something he knew very well after the fruitless months spent searching for him.

As he dressed, the reality of his current dream weighed heavily upon him. The fact that this is exactly how he dreamed a relationship with Dean Winchester would be unfortunately said quite a bit about him. It said that his time as a human had affected him possibly too much. It had opened his eyes to the fact that not only did he have feelings towards the man, but that he had also lost his faith somewhere along the way. He once had almost a childlike trust in the will of God. He used to believe that his Father had a plan for everything and everyone. That he was out there looking out for his angels and his beloved creations, desiring nothing but success for those who obeyed him.

But Castiel now realized that he had been naïve. God was gone. He was either dead or had given up on this world and fled for a new one. He didn't care about the happiness of his humans and he most certainly had no hand in the dealings of the angels any longer. They were all left to their own devices now.

Dean Winchester had once been seen by the angels as God's hand-chosen Righteous Man. The one who would lead them all to success in the apocalypse. He was Michael's vessel and the dutiful soldier. But that was before many of the angels decided to take prophecy into their own hands. And from there…from that moment when Castiel decided to betray everything he knew to save this man, everything changed. At that point, his main motive was to do anything he could to protect this man.

It wasn't like Castiel could just pinpoint one single thing Dean had done to win him over. He couldn't just name one quality or one moment that had caused him to change. The main fact was that this man was different from every other out there. And it was only within the last year – his time spent wandering without grace, humanlike – that the angel had begun to understand just what that meant. It meant love in a way that differed so much from how he felt for anyone else.

There was more meaning to it than just that, though. It also meant fear of discovery, a desire that often crippled him, and his need to make hasty decisions almost based solely on how they would affect Dean. Once coupled with everything else he had experienced since, it ended up being quite a lot to handle at once. And that was why he kept it a secret.

But not in this world. This plane of reality that only existed in his own mind. Castiel had dreamt of Dean a few times before he had taken Theo's grace. And he found the man was now the center of his dreams once again as that stolen grace faded away. As he essentially 'died' and became human once again. It wasn't such a bad side effect.

And this wasn't a bad dream. Yes, a secret relationship that most likely included nothing but iniquity might not have been his first choice. But, when it came down to it, it was just a dream. Anything at all was tolerable where he could find it.

In order to keep the dream flowing smooth, like real life, Castiel made mental notes as he walked through the bunker. He had woken not in Dean's room as he had fallen asleep in, but in another of the many unoccupied bedrooms. This, of course, made sense with Dean being here and human. Though it gave him little comfort, nonetheless, admittedly.

He was also, for the purposes of this dream, human. Dean had mentioned him being an ex-angel. His grace had faded out. Or...maybe this was set before he had stolen Theo's. But timeline was not of import. He wouldn't be 'here' long enough for it to matter.

The last thing he noted was his relationship with Dean. It was...undoubtedly sexual. Their kiss minutes ago was not that of a random whim. It was perfected over countless nights of shared desire. Even though this was a dream, it left him hungering for more. It was, after all, _his_ dream. He could control what happened, he was sure. And if he wanted to kiss Dean again, why shouldn't he?

With this thought the forefront of all the others, Castiel waited for the hours alone to pass in the dream. Thankfully, they rolled by quickly – almost like it was a scene of a movie running on fast-forward. In what seemed like no time at all, he was folding himself beneath the sheets of his bed, once again. He hoped that when he 'woke' in the dream again, the Winchesters would have returned. That he could find Dean again and hold him tightly with the intention of never letting go. That he could curl up in his strong arms and beg to be protected for a change. That he could hide out in this dream reality, stealing unreasonably passionate kisses and ignored the real world that lacked all of these beautiful things.

Finally, hours later, Castiel felt the pressure of someone sliding under the covers behind him. The body pressed close to his own, whispering a soft 'shh' noise as he opened his mouth to speak the man's name. "It's just me, Cas..."

There wasn't anything 'just' about Dean's presence. His weight against Castiel's back was absolute security. "Tell me about the case," the angel said, his breath shaking as Dean ran his fingers lightly over the spot on Castiel's back where his wings would normally protrude from.

"Really?" Dean laughed. Oh Father, Castiel missed that snark-filled laugh. "Alright...well, uh, we didn't go far - just a couple cities over. There were strange killings reported at this...swanky hotel. Like...stabbed through the heart with a broom strange. Witnesses mentioned pale women with rustling clothes walking around. Sounded like a routine haunting. Salt and burn, no big deal. Right?"

This was so normal, the way Dean spoke without fear or hesitation in his tone, that it almost felt like they had gone back in time. Back before they had met. Before angels and demons vied for Dean's soul. Before the world changed by their hands. It was a side Castiel had never seen, but now realized he longed to. A satisfied gleam to his eyes, he turned over in the man's arm and gently touched his chest. Just gazing into his eyes and listening to the beautiful man speak his carefree words.

"Well, we were right on the haunting part. EMF spikes all over the place. Not just in the rooms of the deaths, though. We checked several rooms that had guests checked in and...they all were positive. Also, those who had died were all hired for housekeeping. Every single staff member of that team was dead. And still every guest we spoke with said that they had awoken to a clean and spotless room.

"Turns out we were dealing with a silky. It's a ghost, but...a specific one. One we'd never come across. Don't know if Dad did, either. There was no mention of one in his journal. Anyway, apparently silkies are...a benevolent type of spirit? They tidy up houses while the occupants are asleep. But they also tend to kill those who are lazy workers. Turns out...the housekeeping crew liked to take too many breaks. Did their jobs half-assed. So it was lights out for them.

"We found out that the silky legend hails from Scotland or...somewhere European. I don't know, Sam did the research. Located a woman who had died rather violently by her controlling jerk of a husband back when there was a house on that land instead of a hotel. Found her bones, did the usual routine and bam! - end of case."

It did seem easy. Almost too easy when compared to everything the Winchesters had endured through the years. But there was just one thing that bugged Castiel. A question that had come to play on a loop in his mind through his time alone - "Why didn't you take me with?"

"C'mon, Cas," Dean pleaded. The way he said it caused Castiel to cringe - he had heard this question too many times before. "Your grace - your _stolen_ grace - is smoking out fast. You can use any chance at shut-eye you can get. You know that..."

This dream was just a mirror of Castiel's current life. Some happy form of reality where Metatron hadn't stabbed Dean. Where Castiel had been able to save the man before it came to his death. Where his disposal of the angel tablet hadn't come a moment too late. If he was guessing correctly, it was his life modified to accommodate the actions he wished he could have taken instead of what really happened. And yet he was still losing his angelic state of being at a rapid pace.

"I know," he said on a strangled breath. "I _do_ _know_."

The room was dark, but Castiel could just barely make out the small wince to Dean's features as he sat up a bit. No doubt he had picked up on the fear in the angel's voice. They knew each other well enough to see past words and tone inflections to the feelings underneath. "Hey, _hey_ , we've talked about this." The man's calloused hands ran tenderly through Castiel's hair, thumbs curving over his cheeks. "It's not something you have to be scared about. You'll be human again, but nothing will change. Sure, you'll have to eat and shit and patch yourself up when you bleed. Things you're doing already now as you're fading. No more flying and just zapping yourself to wherever you want to go. But…you can ride shotgun anytime you want…." He chuckled softly, leaning in with his purely Dean-scented, sweet breath and pressed his lips to the other's forehead. "You don't have to worry, Cas…."

In that moment, Castiel had no reason not to trust Dean. His words were kind and his voice was soft. He obviously cared and right then…that meant everything. Overcome with an intense amount of emotion, the likes of which an angel wouldn't be used to, Castiel practically dove further into Dean's arms. He crushed their lips together, pinning the man down against the pillows.

"Whoa, slow down, cowboy!" Dean chuckled, his hands instinctively slipping beneath Castiel's waistband to settle upon his hips. "I mean, it's sexy as hell when you take charge but…." His words were cut short as the angel's teeth sunk into his neck. Hips rolling up, his fingers dug into Castiel's upper back.

"I wish you could feel my wings," Castiel groaned, missing the pleasure those strong hand would have brought if massaging his feathers. "I wish you could have seen them. Dean…I wish things were different…."

The way his angel said the words brought about an intense change in Dean. He frowned, gently easing Castiel's deep blue eyes to meet his. "What is _with you_ tonight, man?" His lips were sinfully swollen, contrasting the tears glazing his doe-like gaze. "You're mopey as crap."

Dean was, by no means, a master of emotions. He wouldn't know how to handle a crying angel in any reality. That didn't mean his words weren't enraging, however. "What is with me?!" Castiel boomed, his harsh timbre enveloping the room. The sheer volume of it caused Dean to rapidly sit up, dislodging the angel from his lap while he motioned for him to be quiet. "What's 'with me' is that you're not real, Dean! You're not _real_!"

"What are you talking about?! Of course I'm real!" Dean gripped Castiel's upper arms and shook him violently. Trying to knock some sense into him. "Look at me, Cas! I'm fucking _real_. Live and in the flesh – right in front of your face. _Look at me_."

Castiel couldn't. He closed his eyes tight, not wanting to see any more of this. He was ready to be back home. Ready for the real world again. This dream was too far from everything he knew. It was too perfect. "I just want to be awake now," Castiel muttered.

He was to the point where neither sleep nor wakefulness appealed to him. Right now he didn't want to be asleep. But one he was awake, he knew he wouldn't like that, either. Nothing felt comfortable anymore. Nothing felt safe. Dean here was too nice and too beautiful. Dean in his current life was nowhere to be found and turning into a monster.

After what seemed like ages of trying to block out Dean's begging and soft pleading and angry slapping, Castiel finally awoke. The dream ended abruptly, jerking the angel back to the real world and all of his problems. Wrenching him into a violent fit. Clutching desperately at his wings and pulling away handfuls of dying feathers. Tears streaming down his face and wetting the front of his sleep shirt. Throwing the constricting covers away, wanting to escape the feeling of being constricted.

The hallucination had left Castiel drained. The dream, rejuvenated with a purpose. He _needed_ to find Dean. Needed to be able to see him and touch him and fix him before he lost his grace. There was absolutely no telling what would happen once he did and he needed this to be done before it was too late. For real, this time.

He was tired of these fake images. Dean manifesting as a murderous, soulless demon just as Castiel feared. Dean being a fantasy of everything Castiel wished for. He just…needed the real thing.

And he was tired of waiting around for it.


	3. so in the end now what have we gained?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The page number sent for this was 17, sent anonymously. The entry I took from this page was Ankou - the Celtic personification of death. Upon further research, I came to discover that, according to Scottish lore on the personification of death, "a black, dark green or white dog known as a Cù Sìth took dying souls to the afterlife. Crowley being Scottish got me on the train thought of Hellhounds and...thus the chapter unfolded. I know I sort of went with a loose interpretation of the prompt entry but... I wanted it to remain true to what I had already created. I hope you all enjoy and please, please let me know what you think! This is my sort of... inner thoughts on how the demon!Dean plotline could go. I wanted it out in the world before the premier Tuesday and busted my depressed butt to achieve that. I am rather satisfied with the outcome. Had to actually take a small break from writing it because I was so emotionally invested in Dean.  
> Anyway! Read on, my wayward sons and daughters!

No longer being able to feel the bite of cold night air was something Dean still wasn't used to. Strutting around the dark, abandoned streets of Omaha, Nebraska in the middle of October wearing nothing but a black t-shirt felt unnatural. But he couldn't deny the effectiveness and added mobility of it. It was quite convenient not to feel cold any longer. It made him stronger, faster, more powerful.

And better able to track prey.

Flexing his fingers around the First Blade, Dean's candy-green eyes cut to pure black. "Come out, come out wherever you are…," he chuckled. His work boots barely made a sound upon the cement, maneuvering around the puddles of recently melted snow with ease. "Go on, sniff him out, Little Bitch," he grunted, motioning forward the beast walking a few steps behind him.

A particularly scruffy Hellhound whose fur was the likeness of black mold, gave a soft growl in acknowledgement to her new master. She padded silently off ahead of Dean, leaving him alone in the coming fog. "Told Crowley she'd come to appreciate the name," the demon said to himself, smirking at the canine-shaped shadow.

"Hellhounds don't have the mental or emotional capacity to appreciate pop culture references, Dean."

It had taken Castiel's last functioning ounce of stolen grace, but it had been worth it. Castiel had finally found Dean Winchester. One absolutely draining Enochian spell was all he had needed to obtain a location. And, after a hasty and hapless flight, the angel was finally looking upon his Righteous Man again after what felt like years away.

All he could hope now was that the effort was worth it. He could feel the fatigue in every single cell of his body. His knees were buckling and his breaths were coming in sharp rasps. Consciousness threatened to evade him, but he was battling tooth and nail with himself to hold on. His grip upon the corner of brick wall hiding his slumped form was that of a desperate man.

Dean was there. He was a mere thirty feet away. If Castiel could only hold on for a few moments longer – if he could strengthen himself for just a matter of minutes – he was sure he could find the courage to approach this demon of a man. It was these distressed thoughts alone that kept the fading angel in his shallowly cognizant state.

All of a sudden, a sharp scream pierced the dark night air. Castiel's eyes moved along with Dean's to watch a struggling form being drug upon the ground toward the demon. Dean crossed his arms, the satisfied smirk hard to miss upon his cruel lips. The leg that was within the Hellhound's jaws was snapped at a funny angle, gushing more blood upon the pavement than could be safe. Not that it mattered, the squealing man wouldn't be alive much longer.

"You can scream all you want, buddy!" Dean yelled back at the pathetic mass of human flesh. "No one can hear you! Call it a magical barrier around this alley you deserve to die in." To all other mortal creatures, the man would appear as an attractive and successful tall, dark, and handsome hunk. But Dean was no longer mortal. He could now see beyond that exterior shell and into the soul. Inside, this man looked just as slimy and despicable as he had on the outside when he'd traded his soul ten years previous. One snap of the fingers had transformed him from the pudgy, pale, bespectacled waste of oxygen he had been into a man that just _looked_ the part of a successful businessman. A look he had wasted on gambling, bad investments, small-town success that mean near to nothing, and a long string of women who were so out of his league, they didn't much care for losing him after a one-night-stand.

He had squandered his gift and his life and now it was very near to ending.

Not a single fiber of Dean felt remorse for what he was about to do. The First Blade buzzed with the electricity of anticipation in his palm. It sung to him a song of righteous murder and satisfaction. Killing a man whose soul was so disgusting it curled his stomach would be an absolute pleasure.

"Please God, no! I'll do anything! Just spare me…." The man's voice trembled with pure fear. It was always in their last moments that people chose to become religious. A man pleading with God to spare him from a deal he'd made with a demon was a perfect example of just that.

His laugh sounding as chilling as the night air around them, Dean stepped closer to where the Hellhound had taken to gnawing upon the man's leg as if it were a treat. He affectionately patted the creature's head, running his fingers through the mangy 'fur'. He crouched down, his forearms resting upon his knees. His hands dangled in the space between himself and the pathetic excuse of a human, the Blade threateningly close to the man's chest. "God?" he questioned on a hiss, rolling his eyes back to their less-threatening green color. "Don't waste your breath, pal. God's dead.

"Right, Castiel?"

A physical chill running down Castiel's spine, he snapped his eyes up to meet Dean's. The demon was staring straight at the shadows that concealed him. He raised a brow, cocky as anything. Nothing less than proud of himself. To say the least, Castiel was shocked. He had underestimated Dean's power. Or had he merely carelessly overestimated how well he had hid himself due to his delirious state?

"Oh, yes, I can see you. Or more…see your presence. I like to call it Angel Radar – one of the more handy powers that come with the Knight of Hell title." Squinting his eyes just slightly, Dean tilted his head to the side. It looked as if he was having a hard time holding onto the image of the celestial being. "Although…you are hardly a blip, Castiel. Hardly there at all…."

No doubt, this meant that the endurance of Castiel's stolen grace was nearly extinguished. He could feel it in every breath he took. Every pump into his lungs felt more and more human in weight. Less special, less worthy, less heavenly. Plain. Boring. Pathetic. Clearing his throat, Castiel forced himself to stand taller and took a shaky step out of the shadows. It was taking all of his remaining energy to keep this strong facade. Inside, he was screaming in as much agony as the man covered in blood hanging from the Hellhound's jowls. His entire existence up until now, however, encouraged him to keep the pain hidden. Any weakness could yield a less-than-desired result. "Sam and I have been looking for you, Dean," he said bravely, only a slight waver to his deep timbre coming through. "But I'm sure you are already aware..."

Hallucination Dean had seemed to know that he was being searched high and low for. He just hadn't seemed to care. The sentiment was absolutely lost on him.

And Dream Dean was...somewhere in the happy middle. Somewhere this wasn't even spoken of. Maybe there would be soft whispers of thanks in the middle of the night, but he hadn't stayed in the delusion long enough to find out.

Reality Dean, quite oppositely, seemed to give a flicker of regret at the mention. His eyes softened and his face shifted from the stone-cold soulless expression for just a fraction of a second. In that small window, the human part of him was still rather visible. The part that hunted things like him was still inside, threatening to break through. Trying _so hard_ to be given the reigns.

It was this small peep that gave Castiel the strength to move forward. He forced his legs to carry him towards the demon, trying not to focus on the man pleading with him to be a merciful angel and stop this madness. He claimed to be an innocent, but in the flickering, fading gaze he was able to get of the man's soul, he couldn't believe it for a second. Some older version of Castiel would have helped him. The version of now, who had been hardened by humanity and war a poor choices, didn't even give this passive decision a second chance, however.

"Dean, just come back with me," Castiel urged as he moved. He didn't break eye-contact for a second, knowing this could be the last time he looked upon the brilliant green. "Sam has been researching, tearing everything apart, to try and find a cure. We have options. We have things to _try_. Just…come with me."

It was a useless plea. Castiel knew that from the moment he opened his mouth. By the time he was finished speaking, the spark of something human inside of Dean had already disappeared. His eyes again hardened and flicked black for a moment. It was a constant war inside of him, it seemed. For a moment, he could take control back, but then he would be pushed aside and reminded of the evil he had been forced to become. It must have been a vicious cycle.

"Oh, yes, the constant Winchester need to _fix_ things," Dean spat, gripping the First Blade rather viciously in his fist. He stood, lashing out with a harsh kick of his boot to the mewling man's gut. "To _save_ people. Such a useless existence. Dying and coming back so many times we've all lost track. Watching everyone else die around us because they just weren't _worthy enough_ to come back from the dead. They weren't Sam and Dean Winchester. They weren't destined from the beginning of time to save the world over and over and _over_ again." Another kick brought blood trailing from the man's mouth into a shining pool of melted snow on the pavement.

Everything that Dean had once strived for was being twisted by the monster he now was. All of the good he had done and the sacrifices that had been made for those goals now meant something pathetic to him. It all accumulated into one giant reason why he hadn't deserved to live in the first place. Why he thrived more as the bad guy. Castiel had been to that point after letting the Leviathans loose on the world. He knew that self-hatred and every other questionable thought and feeling that went along with it.

But so did Sam. And if the two of them could overcome the mistakes they had made and keep fighting the good fight, so could Dean. His status as a demon changed nothing. They just needed to get him to see that reasoning. They just needed to break through to him. Which seemed like it could be an impossible feat, at this point.

"This is who I am now, Castiel." Dean's words were solid and icy. "I don't need saving this time." He looked at the angel he had once called friend like he was nothing better than a worm to him now. And, Castiel noted, he seemed to insist upon referring to him by his full name. Something he hadn't done since having met him all those years before after his rescue. The nickname was gone. That meant that Dean had lost the part of himself that had enough of a personality to remain consistent. That part that always insisted upon calling angels by shortened versions of their names.

The real Dean was now either buried so far deep he rarely saw daylight, or he was gone completely but for those seconds in which he might question himself.

Hanging his head, sensing a stubborn defeat, Castiel nodded. He just barely tilted his eyes up enough to watch the demon grasp the man at his feet by the hair. Yank him into a forceful standing position. Bring the Blade to his throat, teeth side threatening to scrape harsh gashes into the vulnerable skin. Drawing it roughly across his neck in one quick motion. Holding a too-satisfied smirk as he dropped the body carelessly to the ground. Playing up the gratification to see Castiel cringe.

"Better get out of here, Angel, before we decide you're next."

The casual death threat was almost so expected that Castiel couldn't help but to laugh. It was by no means humorous, but it did feel like such a Dean thing to do - warning him via vagrant threat. The fact that he felt light-headed and nearly dead on his feet certainly didn't help to quell the hysteria, either. He took another step closer to the man, lacking balance, which sent him crashing against a collection of trash bins up against the alley's walls.

Dean watched on with something like disgust written upon his face. His lip was curled up and he couldn't hold his gaze upon the shell of an angel. How could he ever have been associated with someone so weak?

Noticing the shifty demeanor, Castiel righted himself again slowly. He pulled his trench coat back into place and attempted to look dignified. Humiliating himself wasn't going to earn him any respect with this version of this man. "This, by the way, is what you would have become if I hadn't saved you from hell all those years ago. A demon…," Castiel said gruffly, trying to shift the attention away from himself. Get Dean to focus on what he had become. Get him to change his mind. Shed some light on himself so he could maybe begin to understand.

The silence in the wake of Castiel's words was hard to judge. Dean's eyes, appearing so human at the moment, were trained upon the Hellhound as it eagerly lapped up the dead man's blood. His expression was unreadable, but his grip upon the First Blade had slightly slackened. Taking this as a good sign, Castiel took measured steps closer to the demon. Careful to keep his body steady and in an upright position, as much as he could while feeling as if he would collapse at any second. "It was inevitable, I suppose. Fate does often have a way of circling back to her original plan…."

"Which is why you always end up broken, I suppose." The words hit Castiel like being plunged into pure ice water. His jaw dropped and he settled a few feet away from Dean. Those brilliant blue eyes shined with hurt and absolute shock at how true that felt. "God can bring you back as many times as he wants, but you will always end up making the wrong choices..."

As he stood there, every breath Castiel took brought him closer to again losing his immortality. Blue-black feathers molted off his wings, the angelic aura around him slowly faded into nothing, and his powers became nonexistent. He was wasting the last moments of his grace trying to talk sense into a creature that would never want to hear it. Speaking to the demon like he was capable of understanding the hurt he had been putting those close to him through.

What was he doing? Why was he wasting his time with this man?

Sighing heavily, Castiel allowed his weariness to show through. The act was draining him more than he would have liked. He gave up, sinking down to his knees and bracing his hands upon the pavement. The chill of the cement felt soothing upon his warm skin and letting out the fatigue was a great relief. "Dean…. I know it goes against everything you are now, but would you…. Would you please just sit with me a moment? You are absolutely correct. I always do end up broken. I will end up broken again tonight. Very soon. And before that happens…. I need to see what you have become through my remaining sight."

As much as he feared seeing Dean's demonized face, that was Castiel's last wish as an angel. He wouldn't have the ability much longer, he might as well take advantage of it while he could. Because he was quickly losing everything that made him powerful, he couldn't see it without being close. Which could either be a brilliant way to humanize the demon or be the end of Castiel.

"You want to see what I have become?" Dean questioned, his voice low and menacing. "By all means, take a good, long look, Castiel." His steps long and full of purpose, he closed the remaining distance between them. "Be sure to tell me how adorable I am." Not even a foot from Castiel, Dean again crouched down. This time, however, the First Blade was carefully holstered on his hip. Seemingly a sign of nonviolence.

The smile Castiel gave in response was delusional. There was no way he had really heard this demon say that, was there? He looked up at him, only slightly shocked by the faded sight of the new face lurking beneath the one he could paint in the clouds with little effort. His breath hitched for a moment, but he had prepared himself for this. Ever since experiencing the hallucination, Castiel had forced himself to be ready for this. Plus, it wasn't quite as hideous as he had expected, and that helped. It was soft around the edges, dark but still not quite grown. A baby demon, if there was such a thing. Which meant that Dean still had a chance to force out that new part of him before it grew to full stamina.

"I wouldn't exactly say...adorable," Castiel said, interrupted by a weary cough. Once he became human, he was sure he would be left rather ill. He really should be resting more than he was. "But, uh...you do still have your appeal."

"Has the apocalypse resumed? Because that sure sounds like an angel is flirting with a demon..."

"I am not much of an angel, as you can see..."

It was Dean's turn to chuckle. The first noise he had made that actually seemed slightly human. Stunned by the intense emotion that brought him, Castiel whipped his head up to meet the other's gaze. In that moment, he was able to forget everything they both were turning into. In that moment, they were Cas and Dean, staring into one another's eyes for uncomfortable periods of time. In that moment, they were linked in that sort of trance-like state that neither could explain.

In that moment, everything was okay.

But, of course, that couldn't last. Seconds later, Dean broke the contact. He looked away, seemingly hardening himself. His eyes again flashing black momentarily, like a warning, he shifted them over towards the Hellhound. It was almost nothing but a shadow to Castiel now, but he could still hear its answering snarl. "Well...this has been...fun, Feathers, but..." He shrugged, making a point out of keeping his eyes downcast.

"Wait!" Out of a desperate need to never lose sight of Dean again, Castiel recklessly reached out for him. As the demon went to stand, the angel grabbed for his hand quickly. Feeling just how cold he was, despite not being able to feel it himself. "Please…. Don't go," he pleaded, over the angel act and fully immersed in his desire. His incredibly human need to be loved. He was to the point of delusion that he was begging a demon of all creatures for affection.

The sharp, bewildered look Dean gave in response was absolutely chilling. He narrowed his eyes, staring down at their clasped hands for a long period of time. Obvious indecision shone in those eyes that seemed so unbelievably normal at that moment.

"I know that it is…a lot to ask," Castiel said slowly, making certain he was absolutely sure of his words. This may be his last chance to use them – who knew when they would be this close to one another again. Next time, one of them could be killing the other. Angels and demons had a tendency to do that to one another, even if Castiel wasn't all that celestial any longer.

"All I want, Dean, is to have one last conversation with you. You seem…dead set on remaining in this form. Otherwise, you would have come to Sam and I…long ago. When you caught wind of us searching for you, you would have come. And…I know from experience, that changing a Winchester's mind is often…difficult…. To say the least." Even though he was lacking any single fiber of humor in this situation, Castiel found his chest bubbling with short laughter. Despairing laughter. "Fine. You're a demon. And…maybe you will eventually find your way home. I have had a long time to reconcile this, and have come to the conclusion that…that is all that matters. You eventually coming home."

A disgusted sneer marring his face, one that allowed the demon inside of him to truly shine through, Dean thrust Castiel's hand away. Like it was vile and he didn't want a disease to transfer. " _Home_?!" he sneered. "And where exactly is this _home_? I haven't known a home for my entire life."

This was foolish. Reasoning with a demon was absolutely foolish. Castiel cleared his throat, shifting on his knees and straitening enough to look Dean directly in the eye. He looked absolutely pitiful in the most submissive of ways. "Home would be...anywhere you are once again by my side. By...by _our_ side. Sam and I. Both." He sighed, knowing that the correction was for the demon's sake and not his own. He had meant by his side alone because that was all that mattered in this moment. After the hallucination and the dream, all that mattered was Dean wanting him as much as he currently desired.

In a swift instant, Dean had Castiel by the lapels of his trench coat. He forced the broken angel to his feet, throwing him up against the nearest alley wall and pinning him there with nothing but the will of his mind. Castiel struggled with a soft, scared noise for a moment, but gave up when he realized that would only aggravate him further.

"How about I tell you a story, _Castiel_? Hm?" His face was so close that Castiel could smell his sulfur breath with every inhale he took. It scared him just how tantalizing the tingle it sent through his body felt. "Once upon a time there was a little boy named Dean Winchester. He had a house and a wonderful, loving, normal-as-expected family. Until, one day, some demon decided to change that. You know, for the greater good of the fucking apocalypse.

"This demon burned this boy's mother alive, turned his brother into a monster, set his father on a drunken and abusive path of vengeance, and threw absolute chaos at this boy until its death. Dean Winchester's life was absolute hell for all thirty-five years of it. He died more times than he could recall and lost more than any one person should ever have to endure.

"And in the end of it all, he was still expected to keep his shit together. After losing his father, a man he wished was his father, his brother multiple times, his friends, his family, anyone he came close to. After going to Hell, Heaven, Purgatory, and everywhere in between. After fighting angels and demons and Leviathans and all the scum that walks the Earth. After Azazel, Eve, Lilith, Lucifer, Abaddon, Crowley, _Castiel_ , Dick Roman, Metatron…. After all of that and doing everything possible to ensure that all of this ended smoothly…. This boy was expected to be a man and take everything with a grain of salt.

"And then he died. And then because he had taken the damned Mark of Cain so he could just _kill_ one of those bastards, he became a demon himself. A Knight of Hell, no less. And then he was expected to follow orders in his death just as he had in his life from every single person that viewed him as nothing but a little soldier. He was expected by his supposed 'boss' now, fucking Crowley, to become this…Ankou, this personification of death he desired. The one to deliver the souls of any crossroads deal the high-and-mighty King of Hell may have made before he discovered his true calling. He was expected to use this power that had been the death of him for something so petty as collecting souls. Because that is all that this boy was ever good for – taking orders.

"Even if that boy was still somewhere on the inside, screaming for this home you talk about, there is absolutely no way he could be heard. Dean Winchester is too far dead and buried for his dreams to matter anymore."

At the end of Dean's self-loathing-soaked monologue, Castiel felt nothing short of pure sympathy for this demon. He had, himself, played a part in molding the man he had once been into this thing he hated. It wasn't something he was proud of, having used his angelic status to force the Winchester family into their 'destined' roles. It was actually one of his biggest regrets – one he had spent the last few years attempting to remedy however he could. His hands shaking from the cautious voice in his head and the tears wracking his chest, Castiel reached up to gently touch the face mere inches from his own. Stroke at the ever-present frown lines and hang his head in shame. "I know it may not feel like it…but you still have a choice. You will always have the option of turning your back on Hell and Crowley and everything you feel like you deserve for what you did with your life." He quirked a barely-visible smile, raising his eyes just enough to meet the ones he could be satisfied dreaming about for the rest of his life. "I have faith that eventually you will return home, Dean Winchester. And when that day comes…." Castiel shrugged, a gesture that was easier than it should have been, given his currently pinned state. He took this as a sign that Dean was loosening his demonic grip. That he was listening. "When that day comes," he continued on a whisper, "I will be waiting. And we will figure this out."

There wasn't a single sign of warning to indicate Dean's disappearance. One moment he was there, nostrils flared as he stared down at the once-angel. The next, he was just…gone. Castiel fell harshly to the ground, scraping his hand upon the cement and drawing blood. Another grim reminder of his humanity, as there was no longer a single doubt that his grace was entirely gone. He looked around the alley quickly, seeing not a single sign of the demon or his familiar. Just a shredded corpse that was missing most of its internal organs.

Sighing in defeat, Castiel raised himself to his feet. He walked out of the alley as if in a trance, meandering down the quiet, practically deserted streets. He had no idea where he was and hadn't thought far enough ahead to bring money or a cell phone. In absolute defeat, he found a convenience store, called Sam, and waited out on the curb for the man to find him. Thought over just what he was going to say as an excuse for being here.

Telling Sam that he had found Dean could only spur his manic search on further. It would renew his hope, but that might not be for the best. Right now…Dean needed to be left alone. There was nothing they could do. It was all up to him to come to decisions on his own. It had to be his own buried conscience that brought him back to them. It had to be whatever remained human inside of him winning out, and that was nothing they could influence.

When Sam pulled the Impala up to curb where Castiel had sat unmoving for four hours, the former-angel was set on his lie. He rattled off something that may not have been all that convincing about meeting with some angels and the trip having drained him. About him no longer being an angel and, therefore, the angels he had met saying their farewells. Seeing the grief lingering in Castiel's eyes, Sam didn't dare question his story.

They drove back to the bunker in silence. It was the same silence that would hang over them for months as they just tried to get through life together. Eventually, after not a single whisper of where Dean could be, Sam would give up on looking for his brother. He would one day sit down in the crow's nest of the bunker, looking absolutely defeated and shattered and finally allow himself to mourn for his lost brother. The next day, all his things would be gone. Every trace of himself would be removed from the bunker because he just couldn't be there anymore. It was too much of a reminder of everything he had lost.

Castiel would stay because where else did he have to go? He couldn't bear to leave all of Dean's things. Not when Dean may still come back one day. He would spend his time reading anything and everything in the library. When he would leave for supply runs, he would cherish his time spent in the driver's seat of the Impala. Sometimes he would even pretend that Dean was sitting beside him, chastising him for accidentally slamming the door or for running it through a carwash every now and again. He would bide his time patiently, waiting for the man to come walking through the door, begging for help.

Time would keep passing by and still he would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small note of worth, as I went through writing the second part, it came to me to create a different sort of... aesthetic for each part. The first is, obviously, what Castiel fears will happen when he finds Dean. He fears the intimacy actually coming to folds and then having it ripped violently away from him as he is killed. He fears Dean toying with him just like any other demon would; that their history together will be nothing in the end. The second part, is what Castiel wished and dreams for. He wants everything to be normal and happy and to be able to go back and fix the mistakes he made. For them to have killed their threats and just moved on like they could actually settle down for once. And this last part was, as you can probably guess, the reality breaking middle between the two. Showing Cas that he doesn't need to fear dying at Dean's hand because deep down he is still the man he used to be. But he also can't have the 'apple pie life' with him. It is this reality that sort of jolts him into understanding, showing him that he can only wait patiently because what he wants won't change what really is.
> 
> I really hope those that stuck through all three parts to see all of this enjoyed the effort I put in. It's not even close to what the plot for the tenth season could ever be, and I know that. It's just... you know, my own thoughts and feelings on a page. That's all. Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it.


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